Kyrie Eleison
by Singing Violin
Summary: PostRequiem. Mulder worries about Scully even as he suffers.


Title: Kyrie Eleison  
Author: Singing Violin  
Rating: K+  
Summary: Post-Requiem. Mulder worries about Scully even as he suffers.  
Spoilers: Requiem, Clyde Bruchman's Final Repose, Tithonus, One Breath  
Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST  
Feedback: Yes please!  
Disclaimer: No matter how much better a job I think I'd have done with them, they're not mine. CC, FOX, and 1013 are responsible, and I blame and credit them with the ownership of these characters and this universe.  
Archiving: Anywhere.

**Author's note: This story is for Darken's 30****th**** Birthday. Never get old, girl!**

* * *

It wasn't supposed to hurt this much. 

In fact, if Fox Mulder were to be perfectly honest, he wasn't expecting it to hurt at all. The bright light that had called to him seemed such a pleasant thing, the other members of the party so complaisant, so ready to accept their destinies.

The promise of knowledge, the heady sensation of curiosity about to be fulfilled, had led only to this.

Pain. Excruciating pain.

Mulder groaned as something metal dug into his skin where a bruise had already formed, leaving the flesh particularly tender. As his lips came back together after the utterance, the chapped surfaces stung each other.

What he would give for a glass of water right now.

Or Scully's lips.

Or anything of Scully's, except if it meant she, too, suffered with him. He wondered whether her abduction had been similarly painful. He hoped not, but the evidence would seem to suggest…

He almost chuckled at that. Since when had he started basing his conclusions on evidence instead of intuition?

Since Scully…

But if Scully were here, she would point out that it was his intuition, not logic, which had led him into this quagmire.

Another instrument moved inside of him, and he felt his bowels contract, but there was nothing left in his digestive tract to expel.

How long had it been? Time had no meaning here. For all he knew, it had been an hour, a day, a year…

Again his thoughts wandered to Scully. If he focused hard enough, he could feel her presence in his mind. He'd done it before. He attempted to block out the pain and concentrate on her.

She was crying.

_No, that's not right. Scully should be happy._

But there it was again. He could feel her shudder as she sobbed, much as his own frame had shaken when the experiments had begun, before exhaustion had prevented his body from further reaction. He didn't even shiver anymore, despite the cold.

It was so very cold. He'd thought, at first, that the cold would numb the pain, but instead, it added to it, another flavor of agony to enhance his palate.

His mind sought distraction from the pain once more. Was she crying for him? Because he had abandoned her?

Guilt washed over him, and for a moment, he welcomed the suffering. The physical torture was far preferable to the inconsolable torment of Scully's mind.

Curiosity, however, was not to be subdued, not even by contrition. Again, Mulder focused his thoughts on Scully, trying to locate her.

Suddenly he was floating above the Earth. Was he dead at last, the pain finally concluding?

It was no matter. He had to find Scully.

Finally, he located her building and drifted through the roof and floors until he reached her apartment. He listened for the sound of her voice, and followed it to the bathroom, where she lay curled in fetal position on the floor, her arms hugging herself tightly around her waist.

It occurred to Mulder that the sight would have made him join her watershed had his corporeal form been present, and had his tear ducts not been long since drained dry.

He still didn't know why she was crying.

He wanted to touch her, to soothe her, but he had no hands with which to do so. He floated up above her and examined the scene.

She'd been sick. The evidence was still in the toilet bowl, as she had neglected to flush, perhaps anticipating a repeat performance.

Mulder could feel his insides contract again, this time with worry, though it could have been the aliens' instruments, if he weren't dead after all.

_Has the cancer returned? Is that why she is sick, is that why she cries?_

In that instant, Mulder knew only one thing, and that was he had to get back. Scully needed him. He'd never been more sure of anything in his life. Without his help, she would surely perish – despite Clyde Bruchman's prediction, despite Fellig's assertion that he had taken her death.

The only problem was, Mulder had no idea how to escape.

Concentrating again, he returned to his body, and the anguish it still endured. _At least I am still alive_, he thought, _so there is hope_.

In that instant, another metal arm came down onto his head and began to squeeze, and Mulder's mind plunged into the darkness of unconsciousness, his last thought of Scully.

In his mind, she smiled.


End file.
